The Apex of Vengance
by tateria
Summary: They said she wasn't ready for the field. They said she was reckless and dangerous. But they didn't know that she was Bond. A first mission fic.
1. Sequence One: Chapter One

**AN -** I'll have Chapter Two up Wednesday, the following chapters will be posted every Monday thereafter.

* * *

"Very well, Bond. We need you to get to the contact, bring them and the package home. The details are being loaded to your phone now."

"Ma'am, that's on the other side of the city."

"Are you saying you're not up to this, Agent Bond?"

"No ma'am, I can do it. But it could get messy."

"You mean this situation you're in isn't messy enough, Bond?"

James pauses, holding in her first three responses. "No ma'am. Just trying to find out what parameters I have going forward."

There is a scuffle on the other end of the line, and James can hear voices talking, several male voices sounding very demonstratively negative about something before there is silence and the muffled sound, James assumes a hand over the the microphone, is over.

"Bond, I'm assigning you a provisional Secret Agent designation."

"Ma'am. ... A double oh?"

"Yes Bond." M's exasperation, and possibly exhaustion if her day was longer than James's. "Just until you can get your ass back here." M sighs, collecting herself before continuing. "Richard, what designation is available?"

James can't hear his response, partially because the man on the other line mumbles the response, and the cacophony of blood rushing in her ears as the adrenaline of the moment surges in her.

"Seven? Good lord... Right, Bond, you are hereby granted a temporary provisional promotion to Secret Agent, 007. Get the contact, get to your exit, try not to make this situation any worse."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"...and Bond?"

"Ma'am?"

"Don't fuck this up."

* * *

 **London, SoHo, 4:15am**

 **(Eighteen Hours Earlier)**

Jamison "James" Bond's subconscious fought the response to the signal it was getting from her ears. The steady alternating buzz and chirp of her phone continued as she snuggled into the warm body laying next to her. Finally her subconscious could no longer fight off the signal, despite the exhaustion and alcohol in her system, and she stirred from her warm sheets and soft companion to find her phone in the mess of clothes on the floor by the bed. Pulling her pants towards her, which was encumbered by the extra weight of her service weapon, she finally pulled the annoying piece of plastic and glass out and answered it, her voice thick with sleep.

"MmmB'nd."

"James, it Maxwell."

Training and adrenaline gave James a sudden burst of clarity, as she sat up, slightly disturbing the tall blonde next to her. "Sir."

"Sorry to call you so late, Bond. I need you at HQ for a special assignment." Jerome Maxwell, head of domestic assignments, left a pregnant pause before completing the sentence. "Now."

James looked around the dark and unfamiliar room, finally finding her watch twisted into a bra. "It's ... 4:18, sir?"

"Are you unable to get here, Agent Bond?"

The young woman stumbled for a second, "Wha.. Umm, no of course I can. Sorry, sir, I just wasn't awake yet." Pulling on her panties while gathering up her clothes and sorting out the ones that were not hers ...and yet had been fun to remove... pulling her jeans on. "I'll be there in ten minutes, Sir."

"Very well, Bond." The line clicked over, the conversation over. James pulled her bra on while grabbing her shirt and looking for her missing sock.

"Ar' y'u leav'g?" The blonde asked, sitting up from where she had been sleeping, the sheet pulled up to her well defined clavicle, the diamond necklace that first got James's attention still dangling between where her clavicles met.

Buttoning up the last of her shirt, Bond smiles at the woman, sleep creeping back into her voice. James comes around the bed, finding her missing sock on the floor. Sitting down, she cups the woman's face, leaving a soft kiss. "Work called me in, darlin'. I'm sorry." The blonde lays back down, sleep quickly taking her back as James leans down to pick up the errant sock, finally able to get her boots back on and get out the door.

A brief walk back to her Jetta and a twenty minute drive and James was back at MI-6 HQ. Considering the time of night, traffic had been negligible, allowing her to take some extra liberties with the speed limit, and so as she came around to the vehicle entrance, she was feeling fully awake, the night air flowing with the top down, her red locks in a lopsided haircut blowing in the drive now fell on the shorter cut side in wind blown waves. Presenting her ID to the guard, and placing her eye to the optical scanner, the system hummed as it read and sent off it's data for approval. James used the seconds to flop her hair back to it's usual look, swept back and over her slight undercut, removing the more daring nighttime look for the much more sedate realms of British Secret Service. As the biometric scanner beeped, the heavy cement gate buzzed before the hydraulics smoothly let the block down, and James was handed her ID and waved in.

Driving quickly, she pulled into her usual spot, where Agent Jamison Bond, a junior member of the Interior Asset Division, was assigned. Hoping out of the car, it's roof already closing shut, James moved at a brisk clip towards the doors and the elevator beyond. She had never been to HQ this early, between her work so often taking her out with other senior agents to deal with domestic issues, and the fact that she was just over a year and a half out of the Acadamy. Standing at five feet nine inches, she wasn't exactly short by men's standard, but with her muscular yet lithe frame and a perchance for button ups and jackets, she was certainly subdued in displaying femininity outwards, which was equal parts a curse of the job and something James was fine with. Femininity had done her no favors over her life, and she wasn't going to advertise it now.

Entering the elevator, she scanned her ID and hit the button to go up to the 1st floor where she normally worked with most of the low level agents. The elevator shut securely, moving up silently and smoothly. The ride up the one floor took seconds, but felt longer as the doors finally opened to reveal her boss Division Director Jerome Maxwell, who for once looked minority disheveled, his tie crooked and shirt rumpled, Bond wondered if the man had actually left, or had hurried into HQ ahead of whatever prompted her call in.

What was more disturbing was that he was meeting her at all. She had planned and expected to report to his office as a subordinate would normally do. Instead, as she started to move forward, Maxwell raised his hand to stop her, and instead he entered the lift with her.

"Morning, Bond."

"Director."

Maxwell scanned his own ID, selecting the executive floor, which required a secondary keycode to be entered.

"Director, I'm not authorized for the top floor." Bond interlaced as the lift began the monotonous journey upwards.

"No, you're not." There was a pregnant pause as Maxwell's jaw tightened off and on, as if trying to bury some unspoken words. "So I hope for my sake you'll behave yourself, Jami."

James rolled her shoulders at the almost certainly intentional useage of the nick name that she hated. The taunts of the children at more than a few orphanages rang in her head in the silence of the car. That Maxwell disliked Bond was an open secret in the division. That Bond hated Maxwell was not even considered a secret in the department. Most of the rumor was that Maxwell disliked that a woman, even one with the scores Bond had posted, had graduated from the Academy. Some even thought that he was worried he'd be outshined by a woman. But Bond knew that it really boiled down to one thing: Ego. Bond had found the man pompous and useless, and worse, often impeded her work. What made Maxwell hate her was that he knew she felt this way, and couldn't disprove it, or her. But somehow they managed to coexist for now, which is why Bond was amazed that he was bringing her with him to the Executive Level.

As the lift hummed and paused, the doors opened and a guard took their IDs while showing them to a biometric reader, scanning their retinas. Once that was finished they shown into the main lobby, which Maxwell led through towards another series of doors, which opened into a small lobby. At the opposite end of the lobby was a final door, offset by offices on either side of Bond and Maxwell. Approaching the door, Bond noted that it read "Minister, Secret Intelligence Service", causing Bond to pale as they crossed the door that led to M's antechamber and to ...

"Moneypenny?" James said out loud in shock seeing her old friend at the top of the MI-6 food chain, sitting behind the desk that was perpendicular to the door that Bond assumed led to M's office. Moneypenny for her part looked unsurprised to see Bond, quickly coming round her desk to hug the taller woman tightly as she exclaimed "James! I'm so glad to see you!" Looking at her haircut, Moneypenny reached up, flopping the longer hair that covered James's side cut at work. "Love the hair."

"MP, what are you doing here?" Bond asked excitedly.

"I just got the gig a few months ago. I obviously couldn't share until now." The blonde beamed with pride at her accomplishment.

Maxwell, of course, had no interest in this reunion. "Young lady, is M ready for us?"

Moneypenny stiffened, sneaking a side glance and snark to James as she resumed her seat and picked up her phone. "Ma'am, they're here. Right. Yes, Ma'am."

The vivacious blonde put the phone down. "You can go in now, Director."

Maxwell nodded to her, opening the door and going in without waiting for James to keep up. Bond quickly followed, waving at her friend as she entered the small hallway between the secretaries antechamber and the Office of the Minster.

M's office was still dark, the large thick windows looking out on what was still a dark morning over London. There was a sconce light on over by one wall, illuminating paintings of HRM The Queen, as well as a smaller photo portrait of the Foreign Secretary. Otherwise most of the light in the room came from the twin set of lamps on M's rather large and imposing desk. It had an old feel to it with its wood frame and coloring, but the L-shape and configuration for the computer and monitors belied it's recent design.

"Ah, Maxwell." M said, not looking up from the folder she was reading. "You're here. Good."

"Yes, Ma'am. Good Morning, Ma'am." Maxwell said in his usual suckling manner, Bond observed. For her part she stayed off in the distance, waiting to see what her role was in this mornings events. The effect however left her lurking in the shadows, the lamp's light just lighting up her green eyes while casting a shadow on her face as the longer front of her hair covered part of it from the soft light. Maxwell and Bond stood waiting, the former as close as one dared, like a dog hoping to catch a morsel of fallen food yet afraid to be stepped on, the latter not unlike the Chesshire cat hiding in the shadows staying hidden from observation.

Still not looking up, M speaks up, "So Bond, I understand you've applied for foreign service?" Maxwell turned his head to look at her, the news surprising him as she had expected it to. Most junior agents use a mentor to help them find advancement, and typically one would have used their supervisor for such a hook upwards. Bond had, however, never felt comfortable being in the debt of anyone, especially someone as deplorable as Jerome Maxwell.

Of course, that means one has to bite the hand that feeds them, so to speak. The look on Maxwells face indicated that he felt well and truly bitten.

Bond, however, paid him no mind. Stepping forward only enough to enter the light, she paused at a half-attention, arms loosely behind her, body stiff, but she stared at the older woman who had yet to even deign eyesight on her.

"Your scores at the Academy were impressive, Ms. Bond."

"Than.."

"However, that means little once you enter the real world." Pausing, M looked up at Bond, sizing her up quickly. "Do you feel you're capable of field service?"

"Very much so, ma'am."

M turned to Maxwell. "Director, I have need of an agent for a simple one day trip on foreign soil. Do you think Bond is capable?"

"Well, Ma'am, the thing is..."

"Good lord, Jerome, it was a yes or no question."

"Well, Umm... " Maxwell sighed, displeased at being forced to give an honest answer. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Very well, that's all Maxwell."

"Ma'am?"

"I need to go over this with Ms. Bond. You haven't the clearance nor the need to know, so we'll wait for you to leave." M leaned back into her chair as the man took a second to comprehend, stepping back and nodding before turning to leave. The look her graced James with as he passed left little room to assume that her return would be to some form of retribution.

Once both doors closed, M waved to one of the seats on the other end of the L of her desk, away from the files and the monitors. James sat down on the posh chairs, adjusting her service weapon against the hard back of the chair. Settled in, she looks up to see the silver haired woman staring at her quietly. Bond responds by staring back, waiting for her superior to explain what's going on.

Before speaking, M pulls the top folder from where it had been on the other end of the desk, replacing her glasses to read from the file again.

"Bond has all the skills of a high value agent, but none of the concerns for the proper channel or chain of command. Much like a wild horse, she will likely need to be broken before she will be truly useful as an agent who can work in the field solo."

M sat the folder and her glasses down, folding her hands together to look at Bond, who sat still, returning the stare with cold green eyes. "Do you know who wrote than and when, Bond?"

"Ma'am, it sounds like Director Maxwell. Considering he used several of the same words in his upbraiding of me, I'd assume last week."

"Hmmmm," M hummed, waiting for a reply that wasn't coming. "Do you think it's true?"

"It is where the Director is concerned, Ma'am."

There was a pregnant pause as M waited Bond out again. "I need to know that I can trust you Bond. No one who has worked with you can say one positive thing without also mentioning you're recklessness in the face of authority." The older woman pursed her lips. "I'm stretched thin, and you're the best rated candidate. But no one thinks I should use you." She sighed, standing up and crossing around the desk, leaning against it next to her. She looks at Bond sternly, pausing before continuing. "This may be too much for a blunt instrument to understand, but arrogance and self-awareness rarely go hand in hand."

"Does anything in that file say that I'm unreliable, Ma'am? That I don't finish what I'm assigned, and do it well?"

"Interviews and domestic operations are not complicated, Bond. I let you loose oversea's, you could start a war." Returning around the desk and sitting down, she stares deeply at Bond. "Can I trust you to do a simple job, and do it without mistake. Can I trust you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Very well. Let me be clear, this is a loaner. Opportunities for clandestine service are rare, and I have none open. But I also am stretched thin, as I said, so I need you to pick up the slack." Bond nods. "What that also means is that this is your trial, Bond. Do it well, I'll remember you fondly. Fuck it up, and you'll be taking domestic calls into your 60s."

Bond's eyes flicker at that, the coldness shifting to fire as she stiffens.

"Are we clear, Bond?"

"Yes." Pause. "Ma'am."

M flips some pages in Bond's folder, slipping her glasses back on. "Orphan. No family. Still true, Bond?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Relationship? Any chance of maternity concerns?"

A cruel smirk slides through Bond's face as she drops her face to hide it. "No ma'am, relationships don't like me. And I'm up to date on my IUD."

"Very well." M pulled out two papers. "Here, sign these. You should read them first, but I don't have the time, and that'd be uncharacteristic for you. The first is your standard will papers for overseas foreign operations. The second is the waiver for classified information." Bond signed them unread.

M took them back, and handed her one more paper.

"This is a limited authorization for deadly force."

Bond's eyes widened at the paper. "I thought only double-ohs got a license to kill?"

M looked at the young woman sternly. "It's not a license to kill, it's an authorization to defend yourself *if you must*."

Properly chastised, Bond signed the document and returned it.

"Very well. Q will have the details on your new mobile, but this is as simple a job as I can ask of you, Bond. Go to Tunis, pick up a dead drop package that we've been signaled will be left later today. Come home. That's all I need you to do, Bond."

"Yes, Ma'am. Sounds simple enough." Bond said as she stood up.

M's head flicked towards the junior agent. "Don't get sloppy out there, Bond. The information we've been getting from our informant leads us to believe they're being surveilled. At some point we may need to extract them, which means that the dead drop may be watched as well. Don't let the possible easiness of the mission lull you into getting in over your head."

"Yes ma'am." Bond replied, turning to exit.

As she opened the inner door, M calls out. "Bond."

James pauses, looking back.

"Don't make me regret trusting you."

Bond nods, exiting the office. On the other side of the second door was Maxwell, who looked Bond up and down as she exited the hall.

"Try not to muck this up, Bond." On those parting words, the man left.

Sharing a look, Moneypenny and Bond laughed after the director had left.

"MP, I have to run. Next time let me know I'll be seeing you!"

"Oh James, you're always rushing away. Never any time for us!" Moneypenny laughed at their old joke. The old roommates shared a brief hug and separated, Bond rushing away to her next appointment.


	2. Sequence One: Chapter Two

MI-6 HQ, Quartermasters Department - 5:50 am GMT

Bond scanned her ID, which now flashed a new clearance level coding she noticed when her information came up for the biometric scanner. The shiver up her spine that at the reality of the situation put a small smile on her face, exhaustion be damned. The heavy doors of the Quartermaster's Office slid open, allowing her access to the subterranean cavern where Q and his team worked.

Since Bond had joined MI-6, it had become clear that the tech genius had a small crush on her, however James liked the man, and didn't want to see him be hurt by her, so she kept him at arms length. Fortunately what the man had in technological skills he lacked in skills talking to women, so she didn't have to have the hard conversation with him.

"Ah, Jam.. Er. Jame... Agent Bond. M said you were coming down. Or coming here. Or... Heading here, sorry."

"Hey Q. M said you had a new mobile for me?"

Q nodded excitedly. "Yes! This way."

The thing man, his bespectacled face and freckles making him quite cute when matched with his perchance for cardigans, led her towards a bay in the lab, just passing a huge distraction for James.

"Whoa... Q, baby... What's this gorgeous beast doing down here?"

Q came back, joining Bond as they stared at a shiny Aston-Martin sports coupe, it's grill and cabin bathed in shadows as the lights in it's bay were turned off.

"Oh, that. Yes. We're testing some new upgrades." Pointing, Q started off again. "This way, Bond. Please."

James started to walk away, the dream of the silver car glinting in her eyes. "Right. Maybe next time, baby." She says to the car as she clears the bay.

Catching up to Q, he holds out his hand expectantly. "I need your current mobile, James."

Pulling the device from her pants pocket, she watches as the Quartermaster plugs her phone into the base in front of him. The phone next to her's lit up, text and lines of code scrolling across it's sleek face before the screen goes blank, and the monitor in the middle lights up as Q unplugs James phone from the device in front of Q, and slips it into a slot on the wall behind the workstation, where there were several dozen other phones likewise slotted in. The phone at Q's workstation lights up, the symbol of the Foreign Office displaying briefly as the phone then loaded to a display that looked just like the one on James's phone.

Unplugging the phone, Q hands it to her. "Right. So this phone now is tethered to your personal mobile, so no one will know you're not using your personal phone. All of your old data is loaded on here as well," Q continues, scrolling through the data on his workstation, "including contacts, photos, and even your Candy Crush score. Although I think you'd be willing to let that data disappear."

A cool glare caused Q to stammer. "R-right. So you'r service weapon is still functional, yes?"

"Quite."

"Very well. On that phone is two additional features. First is the blue phone icon. If you press that, you'll be connected to HQ Command and Control. It does require a thumb scan at time of use, but it's fairly straight forward."

"Hmmm... And the second?"

"Ah yes. All the pertinent details for your mission are on the green dot icon. It's a read and burn file, so be sure to complete the whole document before you close it."

"Right. Finsh, then close."

Q then handed Bond a manilla envelope. Bond looked at it oddly, then back at Q. "What's this? Exploding mail?"

Q rolled his eyes. "Passport. Tickets. Company credit cards." James snagged the envelope from Q. "Do keep your receipts, James.". Glancing at his watch, he pipped up. "Ok, you have to go. Your flight leaves in two hours, and getting that service weapon through security will be a right dandy."

"Right Dandy?" Bond asked mockingly.

"Good luck, James. Hurry back safe."

James started walking out, turning to call back as she approached the doors. "I know I'm new to this, but that sounds like a jinx, Q. If it is I'll be coming for you." With a rare authentic smile, she saunters out the door.

Coffee Shop, Tunis, Tunisia - 4:30pm GMT

The coffee shop she had selected provided both a view of the signal location, and a cover as it was full of international tourists. Her fiery red hair was hidden beneath the light green and white scarf she had wrapped around her neck and head, which also gave her a bit of anonymity.

Well, almost some anonymity, as she had managed to attract a boarish Englishman who seemed to have taken a liking for her. She'd been trying to ignore him by reading the local tourists paper, which was a combination of English and Arabic. Her Arabic was good, but not fluent, making reading the paper less relaxing than she wanted to be appear as she waited for the signal. Which meant that her fan had an opening to break in as she tried to read an article regarding several robberies across town.

"So, what brings a beauty like you to a dust-bin like this?" He said, in what James assumed was supposed to be a seductive tone. In truth the city was very beautiful, so the added derision made his comment more annoying. However, she also still was waiting and couldn't afford to move, nor cause a confrontation.

Putting down her paper, she puts on a bright smile, letting her older familiar accent that she had effectively hidden over the course of a lifetime of bullying. "Oh, just out seeing the world. It's so wild out here?"

"This end of the world is so backwards. I'd never set foot here were it not for the oddest surge in hormone sales."

"Oh! Is that what you do?" Bond askes, enthusiasm skin deep only. The man, who had still to ask her name, much less proffer his own, began to ramble on about his oil business, and while James let his talking fade away. Taking a sip of her now lukewarm tea, she looks at the man and smiles, her practiced eyes feigning interest between looking at her paper.

"...and usually these people have no use for western medicine, so imagine my surprise when my company hears of all these sales of penta-5-colysase, and other similar hormonal precursors. So here I am trying to get into that market, since I'm the companies best man. Did you know that I have ..."

Somewhere in the five minutes the man had been talking (five minutes non stop!) , Bond had been alternating between interest in the annoying interloper and her paper, when she spared a glance out the window. A smooth chalk line was now drawn down a red sign - somehow she had missed the signal being dropped.

The annoying man was still mid sentence when she stood up, his voice stopping as he looked up at her. Bond channeled her inner ditz, throwing her arms up apoligeticlly. "Look at the time! I have to meet my friend!" She threw some money on the table, nodding thanks to the server, slid on her aviators and walked out into the sunlight.

Walking up the curb, she timed the crossing of the street with several other pedestrians, dodging traffic and arriving on the other side of the street, taking the park entrance just up the road from where she had crossed. The park was sparse but well kept, a paved path curving along the sides of the park, with concrete and wooden benches spread throughout the path. Towards the center was a mixture of open areas where groups of children were playing football and some swing sets.

James spotted the drop site as she entered, choosing to loop first to make sure she hadn't been followed. Checking for trails was something she sometimes had to do at home, both for practice as a tail and when surviving others in-country. But now she was in an unfamiliar land, trying to be inconspicuous while her vision was reduced by the shawl.

As she was crossing the green center of the park, a group of children ran past, several running into her. James stilled her initial reaction of trying to check to make sure they had not picked her weapon, since she wasn't trying to advertise that she had it. Reaching the other side, she sat down on a wooden bench in the shade of a tree, adjusting her shawl and using the movement to reassure herself that her weapon was still in place.

Pulling out her paper to read again, this time taking the opportunity to see who was in the park, she 'read' from the paper for twenty minutes, until she was satisfied she had the lay of who was in the park. Using an ad as an excuse to close her paper as if to keep the ad on front, she stood and began walking towards the bench where the dead drop was at. Pulling out her phone, she dialed the store advertised on the ad in the paper. As they answered, she began to ask in her broken Arabic if the sale was still on the furniture. The man on the other end was trying to be patient to the obvious foreigner, and offered to speak in English, since he was better than her Arabic. She continued to inquire about the price of the advertised chair as she approached the dead drop site, when a well timed gust of wind happened.

Using the moment, she let the paper fly free from her hands, chasing it and grabbing it in a snatch while reaching over the dead drop site, which was a concrete bench with a old crack that went through the whole of the slab, down to the ground. Slid into the lower back of the crack was a small manilla envelope, which she grabbed while righting herself, slipping it into her jacket as she fumbled with the now crumpled paper and cellphone.

Continuing out of the park, she resumed her conversation with the shop keeper as she walked down the street back to her hotel. Circling two blocks on the way back, James was satisfied that she had returned unfollowed to the hotel.

By this time the sun had set and night was in full effect as she entered into the cool air of the western hotel. The time was now just after eight, and her flight out wasn't until 7:15 the next morning.

James pulled the shawl down, freeing her face and hair from their confinement, and ran her hand through her thick locks. The hot and dusty agent climbed the main double stairwell to the second floor, where the main elevators were located overlooking the lobby. She took the left elevator up to her room on the fifth floor, and entered her room using the key. Before she opened the door, she looked down to see the guinea piece still sitting where she had left it in the bottom corner of the door. It was a simple trick, and not fool proof, but she figured it couldn't have hurt. Entering her room, she checks quickly that no one else is in the hotel room, then deadbolts it.

Putting the package away securely, she then takes the shawl off, tossing it on the spare bed in the room. Ready to rinse the sun, sand, and soot off of her, she removes her clothes, placing them into her duffel for the trip back tomorrow and enters the bathroom nude, bringing her weapon with her and placing it on the counter. She turns on the water, turning it up to as warm as it will go, letting the shower run as she brushes her teeth and examines herself in the mirror. Athletically slim, but more muscularly solid than most women, her breasts natural and somewhat small due to her conditioning, she nevertheless had never had any complaints about her body from her many lovers. Some questioned the scarring on her back, but they were usually quickly distracted before an answer had to be given.

Stepping into the shower, she finally rinsed the grit off of her. Rowling off and re-emerging into the bedroom of the suite, she pulled a tight pair of jeans and a form fitting polo from her duffel, slipping into a comfortable outfit for going down to the bar. Adding on her weapon and a jacket, she flipped her hair to the other side, exposing her side cut and making her hair appear shorter.

The adrenaline of today's events, not to mention the time her day began, should have made for a promise of a good nights sleep. However James never trusted 'should haves', a lesson she learned in the orphanage. Finding some alcohol and someone to help exhaust her was a far surer bet than trusting exhaustion to keep the cold sweats away.

She exits her room, heading back down to the hotel bar. The lighting is mid level, dark enough to be take the edge off, light enough to be considered up class. Taking a seat at the bar, she waved at the bartender who was still making nice with some new-money couple, who Bond assumed were throwing money around to keep his attention. Tapping her nails on the glass top of the bar, she finally gets his attention with a smile and a 'come hither' finger wag.

The bar man's accent is thick but pleasant, and James assumes he sells it up for the forigners. "Hello, pretty lady. What can I get you tonight? Hmmm?"

"Vodka, neat."

"Bloody hell, woman, you need a better drink." A familiar voice came from behind her, and a male sat next to her. Looking over, James realized it was the man from the coffee bar earlier.

Damn.

Pointing at the bartender, the annoying man orders. "Two vodka martini's - and make sure you stir them, none of this shaking business."

The bar man looks at James, who raises an eyebrow in dismissive apathy.

The stranger next to her leers at her, now closer than they were at the coffee shop. "Fancy my luck running into you again. Hell, fancy your luck! A beaut like you traveling alone is a shame." The bar man places the two drinks down, and the business man places down just enough money to cover the drinks, earning a missed dirty look as the bar man leaves.

James takes a sip of the drink, feeling the familiar burn as it goes down. Placing it back down, she looks over at her would-be best friend. He was suitably tall, almost six foot, well groomed in a car salesman way, and James could tell he worked out from how the man's cheap suit fell on him.

"Oy, I didn't get your name, missy." He said to her. The fact that he had started drinking before she had entered the bar was becoming all too painfully clear.

Taking her drink in her hand again, she looks over it as she prepares to sip. "I didn't get yours either, buddy." She takes a long pull from the drink, washing half of it down this time.

"Oh, so sorry!" He reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card. "Jack Palmer, miss. At Ye' service."

James takes the card, looking it over. Jack is in the pharmaceutical sales, which she thinks he might have mentioned earlier in the day. Looking around at her alternatives in the bar, James comes to the sinking realization that her best bet for nocturnal distraction is sitting next to her. Sliding the card into her polo and inside her bra, an action that Jack had watched all too Pavlonian for James most nights, she tossed back the last of the martini, taking the olive and seductively plucking it off the plastic stick.

"Bond. James Bond."

"James, eh?" Jack sized her up again as she stood. "You'r quite a sight for a James."

Bond smirked as she looked at Jack. "If you're a good boy maybe I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

Jack smiled widely, thinking he had somehow been the one who was fishing and had caught a prize. "Oh yeah?"

James walked backwards, nodding towards upstairs. "Come on, let's get this over with." Most men might have found her words odd, but Jack hadn't really listened to much she had said anyways. Entering the elevator, he came at her, kissing her with a mix of passion and alcohol, his hands sliding up James's sides. Closing her eyes, James lets herself slide into the moment and forget how much she finds this boar detestable.

By the time they arrive at her room, she's undone his shirt and her jeans, steering him to the bed before pushing him over. Jack seemed to think it was a turn on, not realizing or paying attention to the fact he was being used. James straddled him, tossing her jacket and service weapon off to the side of the bed, kneeling back to apply pressure to his groin with her ass, she crosses her arms to remove her Polo before leaning down to kiss him, reaching down to undo his pants when the door behind them is kicked in, three men with AKs rushing into the room.

Reacting with instinct and training, James rolls off the bed, turning and reaching for her weapon. Jack, however, was still confused by the alcohol and testosterone in his system, and didn't realize until it was far too late that his night had taken a bad turn as the initial spray of bullets that had been intended for the redhead had all hit him, most in his chest, and two in the face.

James popped up from behind the bed, using Jack's body for some cover as she shoots the man in front in the knee, causing him to fall in the others way. The confusion gives James the opening to shoot the man on his left twice in the head, and then graze the one remaining in the inner thigh, causing him to fall down. The man who had been in front raised his weapon to shoot Bond, James meanwhile stands to get a better sight on the two fallen men who were still alive. She quickly shoots one in the head, and the other she instead takes a clearer shot at him center mass.

Looking around at her room, James curses, throwing her remaining clothes in her duffel, throwing the Polo and jacket back on. Grabbing her duffel and removing the package from it's hiding place, she quickly exits her room as various other guests are beginning to peek out of their doors at the commotion they had just heard.

James entered the stairwell, the lights and paint of this part of the hotel not as well kept as the gaudy main building. Bond adjusted her duffel to keep the weapon accessible as she moved down the stairs. Outside the fourth floor door she could hear the commotion as the guests below tried to figure out where the shots had come from. James stopped listening and ran down the next two flights, entering the third floor hallway, walking sedately as possible. The third floor was the last floor to which the main staircase opened to, and as she began to descend she could make out the hotel security scrambling, three of them heading outside, four more running to the elevator to shut it down.

As James reached the main lobby, she clung to the edge, blending into the on lookers as the police and began to arrive. She slipped out the side door, evading the eight heavily armed police men that strolled through the main entrance fifteen feet away. Wrapping the shawl around her head again, she began to walk away from the hotel, first north a block, then circling around the blocks to the south side of the hotel, it's facade lit up in flashing lights. James walked briskly away from the hotel, her head up and hands in her pocket.

Taking a turn to circle about and check for anyone tailing her, she realized that the men who had been behind her on the previous block were now still behind her on the other side of it. She increased her pace while assessing who else was moving faster. There were four ...no, five of them, the fifth one planning to box her in ahead. Seeing an alley between the fifth man and her, James started to sprint towards it, running into the darkness of the alley before discovering that it had no exit.


	3. Sequence One: Chapter Three

James runs down the alley, avoiding the piles of trash and junk, quickly approaching the brick walls that bisect the alley from the other side. Pausing to assess her options, they were minimal. A tall group of stacked wicker baskets jutted out from the left side, a large green dumpster was parked along the right side, with a three foot gap between the dumpster and the back wall. The little bit of light that reached the end of the alley barely illuminated anything, leaving long shadows behind each, plenty of room for her to hide.

With shouts from her pursuers getting closer, James opted to use the baskets for cover. Throwing her duffel in the corner, she crouches down as far into the shadow of the stack of baskets as she can. Drawing her weapon, she peered through the baskets to view the men as they approached the mouth of the alley. The man who was going to snare her was the apparent leader, a squat bald man who appeared to be somewhat muscular, began to give orders to his cohorts.

They separated, two staying at the end of the alley, two following the bald leader from a few feet behind. The bald man had opted to go with a dagger, stepping forward slowly with his knife-hand at the ready to gut Bond. His guards flanked him by what was now five feet, close enough to shoot the edges of the alley without hurting the bald man, which presented a challenge to James how to confront the three men without getting shot or stabbed.

The bald man finally had reached just before the stacks of baskets and was now creeping down the alley half-crouched, dagger held outwards in his right hand, it's blade catching some of the light from the street lights as he moved forward. As he took another step, he disappeared from James's view as the wicker became too think to see through. Gripping the handle of her gun in her right hand, James stilled her breath as much as possible, fighting the pounding rush of adrenaline to fight or flight.

As the bald man reappeared on Bond's side of the baskets, his view was fixated on the dumpster still several feet away, and James took the opportunity to rush him. Pushing up and out of her crouch, she rushed at the bald man's half turned back slamming into him and then pushing both of them into the alley wall. The sudden start and stop, as well as the collision with the wall, caused the dagger to fall to the pavement below, a metallic clang in it's wake. James let the bald man push back from the wall, turning them so that he now faced his would be protection. Using his backwards momentum she slid her left arm under his left armpit, reaching up and grabbing just above his ear with her fingers, digging into his scalp with her nails. She followed this with a sharp perpendicular kick to his right knee, the sickening crunch of his destroyed knee only audible for a millisecond before his own voice filled the alley in pain.

James reaches over the bald man's right shoulder, digging her elbow into his collar bone, squeezing the trigger of her gun, felling the guard on her right with one shot. The man on the left panicked, getting off two rounds, one skittering off down the alley, the other hitting the bald man in his good leg, again causing him to scream out in pain, and lurch forward. Grabbing his ear more, James pulls him backwards, her arm crossing his face as she turns the gun on the second guard, who was trying to aim at her without further hurting the bald man. Squeezing her trigger again twice, she shoots him twice in his chest, the man falling like a marionette with his strings cut.

Turning the bald man via her weapon arm and his ear, she leveled her aim at the remaining two men who were at the end of the alley. They looked to each other, and both seeming to come to the same choice without words, turned and ran out of the alley, turning right and running back towards Bond's mess at the hotel. Pushing off the bald man, he flopped down onto the ground, pivoting on his damaged knee and landing on his back. The man moaned in pain, blood covering the left side of his face.

Kicking away the dagger he tried to reach for, Bond stepped up to the bloodied man, placing her foot on his injured right shoulder, she leveled her gun at his face, lining up the sights. Squeezing the trigger, the gun clicked but there was no fire. The man laughed as James turned the weapon, swearing as she pulled the empty clip from the gun. Bond stepped away, walking to her duffle to get her spare clip.

The man laughed, began taunting her in English, his accent thick but the words clear. "Stupid girl, playing at a man's game."

Loading the magazine, James came up to the man from behind him, his eyes rolling up to look at her. She glared down at him, staring down her sights into his eyes.

Without a word, she put two rounds into his head.

Looking around at the three dead bodies, and new sirens blaring, James took a second to assess, remembering M's last words to her.

"Shit."

Grabbing her duffel, Bond runs to the end of the alley, clearing the exit, right then left, she turns left running in the same direction she had been going before. Going two more blocks, she turns left suddenly, waiting to see if she was being followed. After a few moments, she swings out, clearing the street behind her. Heading back down the street she had turned down, James walks quickly left another two blocks before turning right again and make more distance from the hotel.

Finally realizing she needed to call her assistance, James slows down, looking for shelter. After a few more blocks, she finds herself in a more run-down part of Tunis, and finally comes across what appears to be a rundown hostel. The lower windows and doors were boarded up, but the top windows were accessible. Bond crossed the crosswalk, checking again to see if she was being followed, and then headed towards the far side of the dilapidated brick and plaster building where the plaster had worn off most, giving James a better foot hold to climb up. Grabbing the exposed brick, James climbed up gingerly, several moments later she was at the second level, nearly at window height. Swinging her duffel bag into the closest window, the soft bag absorbing the sound as the window broke.

Gingerly pulling herself into the large loft room, James climbed in, crouching and walking over to the shadows of the room. Squatting down against the dingy wall, James pulls out her cell phone, as the back light turns on she sees three long cracks running from the bottom left corner. Sighing, James shook her head.

"Sorry, Q."

Using her thumb, she taps on the blue button on the home screen. A black box with no other descriptions or text appears, and remembering Q's words, Bond places her thumb over the black box. A second later, the screen went black. Panicking, Bond shook the phone for a second until the screen lit up, lines of code running up the screen quickly, then pausing before Bond heard a faint voice from the phone.

"Hello?" She asked hesitantly.

"CnC. Please ID and call Status."

"Wha... " Bond closes her eyes, pausing a second to focus. "Bond, Five Eight Six Three Sierra Charlie, Status..." James sighed, pinching her nose as she fought to overcome her frustration at having to call for help. "Status Mustang."

There was silence on the line for a moment, then the voice responded. "Hold, please."

Sliding down the wall, James sat down, sliding a leg under her other knee as she waited. Outside she could still hear the sirens crossing the city, no doubt looking for her. She replayed the last few hours, trying to figure out when she had been followed. Self-doubt was a rare thing for Bond, but she had to allow for her inexperience as well, she reasoned.

"Bond, report." M's voice was strained, and there was a hint of exhaustion in it. James told herself that she had just heard disappointment in the older woman's voice.

"Ma'am. Package secure, but I have two down in the hotel with one incidental, three down in a alley not far from the hotel."

"How did they track you, Bond?"

"I don't know, Ma'am. I followed standard evasion and checked my tails. I had no followers from the drop site."

"How sure are you?" M paused. "Bond, this is your first mission, how sure are you?"

"Positive, Ma'am."

"M, Bond, it's Q. James, what was the package?"

"I don't know, I never looked."

M sighed, James could hear the eye roll. "Open the package, Bond."

Opening the manilla envelope, Bond peered in. Reaching into the envelope, she withdrew a USB thumb drive.

"Q, it's a thumb drive."

"Can you open the casing, James?"

Pulling out her pocket knife and clicking the spring release, the knife popped out of the handle. Sliding the point into the side, she turned the blade popping out the holds of the plastic case, causing the thumbdrive to open into three peices, the two halves of the case, and the insides of the device.

"Ok, Q. I have it opened."

"Right, hold the thumb drive in front of the rear camera," Q instructed.

"Q, don't tell me you put a micro X-Ray scanner or something and didn't tell me?"

"Well, I guess I won't tell you then, James."

"If you two children are done, Q..."

"Yes, sorry Ma'am. James, there's a tape on the side of the device. Can you pull that off?"

"Yes, hold on," James set the phone on her leg, using the light from the screen to guide her. Pulling slowly on the tape, she removes it, seeing soft copper lines traced onto the surface of the tape. "Q, there are lines, they look like a circuit board lines?"

"James, that's what they are. That's your trace right there. Either they were tracking your source, or they were tracking you."

"...or both," James mused.

M's voice was severe as she cut in. "Bond, we need you to get the source of this information, and the information, and get home as soon as possible." M sighed. "We don't know how valuable this information is, Bond, but the source has been giving us vital information about a very dangerous new Islamic Extremist group. This information MUST be brought back at all costs. You're the closest agent I have there, can you do this?"

James paused. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Bond, what is it?" M asked.

"Ma'am, I don't know how much I can do without more of a mess."

James phone lit up as more lines of code scrolled across the screen.

"I'm sending you the information you need to get to the source."

James looked down at the information in front of her. "Ma'am, this address is across town."

"Are you unable to do this?" M asked.

"Ma'am, no, ma'am." James paused. "Again, I don't know how messy this will get."

M paused, then, "Hold on, Bond."

There was a muffle at the other end, and James could make out bits of a conversation going on. There were several male voices strenuously arguing against something, and M shutting them up finally.

"Bond, against everyone's better judgement, I'm granting you a temporary promotion to Secret Agent."

Bond looked at the phone, shock on her face. Pulling the phone back in, she asked "...a double oh, Ma'am?"

"Yes, Bond. God help us all. Richard, what number is available?" James couldn't make out the muffled and possibly mumbled voice. M's voice, however, was clear, "Seven? Bloody Hell. Very well. 007, you have your orders. Is that clear?"

"Y..yes Ma'am. Crystal."

"...and Bond?"

"Ma'am?"

"Don't fuck this up."

The line went dead, more lines ran across the phone, and then it went blank before restarting looking like any other phone.

* * *

The van bounced as it hit another pothole, the driver paying more attention to the contraption the excitable man in the passenger seat was using than to the mostly empty road. They had been searching for the signal since the two survivors of the initial attack on the foreign girl had returned. The Turk scowled from his seat in the van behind the driver, his head bobbing as the van hit another bump in the road. His mood had been foul since he had seen one of his most loyal men slain in the alley, and by some woman no less. The cowards who had reported his death met with their own end shortly thereafter, and now they sought the signal to find that bitch and end her.

The van took another left turn, they had been circling around trying to get a ping on the tracer, but since it was unpowered, they had to be within a few blocks to get a signal. This meant it took time to track it down, but it also meant that the signal could be made smaller. The Turk's patience had, however, been waning in the last hour. He was ready to call in another car to help when the man in the passenger seat began to shout and point forward, a faint dot showing on his laptop.

The driver slammed on the accelerator, lurching the van's passengers back as the vehicle launched forward, speeding towards the dot on the screen. The Turk realized before the idiots in the front seats did that the signal was coming right at them. As the idiot with the laptop started shouting, a taxi drove by the van, and the dot on the laptop now was blipping away from the van. The driver slams on the brakes, lurching the van around to pursue the taxi.

The van shuddered as the engine revved at max pursuing the taxi, reaching the taxi and coming along side it for a block before turning sharply into the taxi. The taxi driver was unprepared, and the taxi careened into the vehicles on the far side of the road, it's horn blaring. The van screeches to a stop, the Turks men pouring out of it, rifles drawn as the circled the car. The men pulled the woman from the back seat, she was screaming in English struggling as they pulled her out by her long brown hair.

The Turk walked up to her, her voice still screaming as she looked at him, panic in her eyes. His other men were tearing apart the woman's belongings looking for the thumb drive, throwing the contents of her purse and travel bag onto the road and the trunk of the taxi. The Turk went to look at the contents of the purse, which were rolling around on the ground. Lipstick, credit cards, a cell phone, and various other items were spread about, and the Turk reached down to pick up the phone. Turning on the screen, the woman on the ground was in the wallpaper, along with a man and two children. Dropping the phone, the Turk stepped on it, crushing the device beneath his boot. Circling the men examining the contents of the travel bag, her went around the taxi to the driver's side. The taxi driver's still body was slumped over the steering wheel, and the Turk turns to go back when he sees the tape sticking to the lettering on the rear quarter panel. Reaching forward, he peels it off and sees the circuitry under the black top.

Throwing the tape to the ground, he signals to the men to stop and load back in the van. The woman, who still has no idea what's going on has a brief moment of relief flash before her eyes.

The sound of the gun going off would be the last thing she would ever hear.

* * *

02:46 Local, 02:46 GMT, Avenue Juan Jaures, Tunis, Tunisia

The ancient BMW stuttered as Bond slowed to watch as the van approaching her whipped about, accelerating to catch up to the taxi she had applied the tracker to. Shifting gears to resume, she started moving forward while swerving to the far side of the road as the van pulls hard to take out the taxi. Watching from the rear view mirror, James could see the men pulling out the passenger from the back of the car. Turning at the next corner, James downshifted, accelerating as she hurried to the apartment building across town.

Considering her pursuers had already found the tracker-laden taxi, James figured she only had a few minutes of lead time before they shifted focus to the same place she was currently headed to. The nearly empty streets allowed her to move quickly, speeding towards the main highway, and then out into the residential area where the contact resided.

Pulling the blue car to a stop outside the apartment building, she looks around and up at the building. There were fire escapes on three sides, and the front door required a key or be buzzed in, neither option worked in James's timeframe. Shifting the car into gear, she swung around to the rear of the building, turning off the car and exiting. She passed into the rear door well, which was just under the fire escape, and tested the door, which was locked by an old deadbolt.

Cursing, James stepped back out, just under the fire escape ladder and jumped up, barely catching one hand on the cold metal. Pulling herself up, she climbed the ladder to the second floor, peeking in to the apartment to find it quiet. Testing the window, she found it unlatched and slid it up. Stepping in quietly, she closed the window before stepping into the dark apartment, swinging around to find the front door. Opening the door as quietly as she could, James slipped into the hallway, and then into the stairwell. Taking the stairwell carefully, she made it to the fifth floor in a timely fashion. Stashing her weapon in it's holster, James stepped out into the hallway, crossing over to the door marked 502.

Having seen the door security features when she was in the second floor apartment, Bond pulled out her knife, the spring-loaded trigger flicking out the blade quickly, and James slid the blade between the jamb and the frame of the door just above the knob. Tilting up and pulling backwards, the door clicked softly as it opened. Sliding her arm along the door to open it, James removed her knife and returned it to her pocket, then drawing her gun again as she slid into the room. The front door opened into a hallway created by the neighboring apartment before entering a living room that had a window looking out over the front of the building with no fire escape. Clearing the corners, she entered the room, swinging left to check the small kitchen area there, before turning right to follow the hallway that Bond assumed lead to the bedroom and bathroom.

Sliding along the wall, Bond paused at the open bedroom door, swinging around to enter it with her weapon at the ready. The bed was unmade, but had only had a single occupant. The closet was closed, and most of the room was a clean and well kept as the rest of the apartment had been. The only thing out of place was the far nightstand drawer that was opened and empty, with a case that she could barely make out open.

James made the connection that it was a gun case milliseconds before she feels the cool of said gun against the base of James's skull.

"Who are you?" The woman's voice was soft, English was fluent, and with only a minimal accent.

"I'm with International Exports." Bond replies, pausing. There was a twitch as the woman behind Bond thought about what she had said. Using her moment of uncertainty, James tilts her head, leaning back and reaching up with her left arm to grab wrist holding the gun, then James shoved hard into the hallway wall, causing the woman to loosen her grip on the gun. Taking the gun from her hand, Bond spun and stepped back towards the bedroom, raising her own gun at the woman. She was wearing a tank top and pajama bottoms, a surprisingly western look James thought. She started to make a move towards James, who stepped back and tsked at her.

The woman glowered at James. "I was told that no one would ever make contact unless there was an emergency."

Bond sighed. "Humpty Dumpty."

The woman paled.

Bond holstered her weapon, and slid the woman's .45 caliber 1911 in her rear waistaband. "We need to leave, now. Do you have your bug out bag ready?"

The woman nodded.

James reached forward, extending her had. "I'm James."

The woman squinted, looking at the female agent in front of her, before moving past James to her closet, pulling out a suitcase and throwing it on the bed. She turned back to the closet, pulling a pair of khakis and a blue shirt out of the closet.

"You don't look like much of a 'James'." The woman said as she pulled her tank top off with her back turned to James. James could see in the dim light that the woman had burn marks on her right half of her back and upper arms.

"It's a childhood name that stuck." James replied, watching the woman slide into her khakis. "I didn't get your name, though."

Turning to stare at Bond, the woman smirked. "I would have thought they had given it to you, James." Grabbing her suitcase, she walks up to James. "I'm Khiana."

As the women start to shake hands, the front door of Khiana's apartment shatters inward, spilling in five men. Pulling Khiana down, Bond pulls her gun out and leans out into the hallway, spying the men in the living room clearing the room. One of the men notices her, turns to point his rifle at James, but she was already in posistion, squeezing her trigger three times, hitting the man in the chest twice, and once in the head, his body flinging backwards. The other men turned and either took cover or shot blindly at where they thought James was. Using the momentum, she squeezed off two more shots, hitting another attacker in the head and one in the leg. Bond pulls her body in quickly as multiple bullets splinter the door she had been using as a leverage. The men stopped shooting for a moment, and James could hear one moving down the hallway. James leaned forward, poking her body out to shoot the man three times in the torso, causing him to fall back into the living room.

The remaining two men had no interest in a clean shooting anymore, and began spraying into the bedroom with their rifles, causing pieces of plaster, wood splinters, and all manner of detritus to fly about in the room. Pulling out Khiana's gun, James fired three times towards the living room, before turning towards the doorframe, firing both weapons into the far wall creating a dual line of bullet holes. Holstering her own weapon and discarding the 1911, Bond grabs Khiana's hand and runs shoulder first in between the lines shot into the far wall, both women exploding in a mess of wood splints and plaster on the other side of the wall.

The other apartment opens onto the side of the building, and has the fire escape blocking the living room window. Continuing to run towards the widow, James grabs a lamp and throws it through the oncoming window, before guiding Khiana onto the escape, sending her down first as the two remaining attackers rush the hole in the wall. Dropping to one knee, James shoots the first in the knee, causing him to bowl over and trip the second. As the second man begins to scramble to rise, James shoots him twice in the forehead, turning the weapon on the first man, still writhing in pain from what was left of his knee.

For a second James ponders that before tonight she had never killed anyone, and now in the span of just under two hours she was going to kill the second nearly defenseless victim. She waited for a second to feel something, but nothing quite came as she dispatched the man with a single shot before following Khiana down the metal stairs. At the bottom she grabbed Khiana again, pulling her towards the car She had parked out back as James could just make out the van from across town moving in the front of the building, no doubt heading their way. Reaching the car, they got in and Bond started the car, which shuddered as it kicked over.

Khiana looked over at James, a smirk in her eyes. "I thought you guys drove better cars."

James looked sideways at her, James's hair falling over her face a bit, mildly obscuring her smirk laden flirtatious smile.

"I'm new."

Pulling the car around, James scowled as the van pulled into the rear lot of the building, blocking the women's escape. Revving the engine, she drops the car into gear, the vehicle lurching forward towards the van, it's exhaust spurting as it accelerates. The driver of the van panics, turning the vehicle hard to his left trying to avoid the oncoming collision. Noting this action with disgust, the stern muscular man in the passenger seat grabs the wheel, yanking the van back towards the oncoming car. James slams on the clutch and brake, yanking the car hard to her left, the car skidding as it hits the van along the sides of both vehicles. James puts the car into gear, surging forward as gun shots fly into the back seat of the car. Turning into the van, the old car rumbles as it shoves the van aside, the van's rear driver's side tire hitting curb and giving the car the leverage to move the van aside another inch. Dropping the car into reverse, James broke free of the van, pulling out her weapon to fire three shots behind Khiana's seat into the van, then turning forward to shift into gear and take off.

Accelerating quickly, James was now facing early morning traffic as she weaved through the traffic on the smaller streets, trying to reach the main avenue before their pursuers could catch up. Gunning the gas, she weaves about a large lorry loaded down with good headed for the market, James hits the gas more while pulling on the emergency brake, the car squealing as it swings hard right, releasing the brake and the two women were slammed into their seats as the vehicle shoots forward missing the lorry who was slamming on it's brakes by mere inches. Shooting down the tight alley, the car flies onto the main Avenue that would take them back to her rendezvous area. As she passed another blue car, James spots the van in her rear view mirror, two blocks behind them.

Not content to wait until they had closed in, the passenger in the van was leveling his rifle at them through the window. Spotting this, James swerved to put cars between the van and her, then presses on the clutch and grabbing the emergency brake and pulling hard, James yanks the steering wheel hard left, the car spinning around one hundred and eighty degrees, before James drops the still revved engine into gear, flying towards the oncoming van still several lanes over. The oncoming cars honk and swerve to miss the oncoming car, giving James to opening to move the ancient BMW over in front of the van, then pulling to the right again to be on the drivers side.

Reaching over, she takes Khiana head and pulls her down on the seat, then once the woman next to her is hidden draws her weapon again, firing twice at the driver as they come into range, then shooting three shots at the front tire of the van. As the car begins to pass the van, using both hands James turns the car hard into the rear quarter of the van. The combination of however many bullets hit the front tire, combined with the impact of the car into the rear of the van caused the van to fishtail, before rolling on it's side behind James. Taking a wide u-turn, James guns the engine, again escaping the van and the pursuing men, James hoped for good.

"We need to find a spot to lay low until I can get us picked up." James said after a few minutes of driving. "We're going to be a target for the police now."

Khiana finally spoke again, reaching to put a hand over James shaking hand on the gear shifter. "I know a safe place."


	4. Sequence One: Chapter Four

05:46am, Suburban Tunis

Khiana turned the key, opening the door to the small house. James followed her in, pausing for a brief second to look behind them for any signs of further pursuit. After they had switched cars in the city, Khiana had directed them to the mildly dusty house they were in now. James drew her weapon, surging forward, checking the rooms quickly before reholstering the gun.

"What is this place?" James asked.

"My second cousins home. He is on holiday for another month." Khiana pulled the blanket off the couch, sitting down and leaning back, exhaustion and post-adrenaline catching up to her.

"Who were those people chasing us?" James asks, flipping through cupboards until she found an ancient bottle of scotch unopened in the back of a cupboard. Grabbing a glass, James walks out into the living room and flops next to Khiana on the couch. "...and why does a people who don't drink always have a bottle in their house?"

Khiana smiled as James poured herself a healthy amount of the amber liquid. Reaching forward, she takes the glass from James, and takes a sip. "One must be ready for guests." Khiana answers with a grin. Returning the glass, she sobers as James keeps looking at her.

"The men work for The Chemist. That's what's on the drive I gave you."

James rolls her eyes, "The Chemist. Bloody kind of name is that?"

"No one knows who he is, just that in the last two years he has quietly set up a network to support other terrorist networks. Money, support, men, whatever they need. I was tasked by the Tunisian government to find out who The Chemist is, and not long after your government tasked me to begin sharing my information with them." Reaching over, she stole another drink from James's glass before continuing. "Then I found that not only was the Chemist involved in terrorist networks, but his network had also infiltrated several governments in the area, including my own."

"Why would a terrorist network support the government's they're trying to take down?" James asked, refilling her glass.

"No one knows, that's what has yours and the American governments so worried." Khiana stole another drink, leaning into James. "All anyone can find are the intangible fingers of the originization, but we haven't been able to narrow it down."

"Why 'The Chemist'?" James asked, filling the glass again.

Khiana shrugs. "No one knows anything about him, who he is, or even what he looks like. Some people think the Turk is really the Chemist, but there's no way a man like that runs an organization so smoothly."

"The Turk?" James laughs at the name.

Khiana laughs as well. "He was the man in the van, the muscular one. He's the shot caller for The Chemists men, and the right hand man. He's a devout ideological from Turkey, where he was in the special forces. I don't know how I could have been important enough to warrant his attention, though."

James takes a hard pull on the Amber liquid in the glass, Khiana sliding her hand over James to steal it. "I think they were after me. I may have killed a few of his men on my way to you."

Khiana laughs at James statement. "May have?"

James turns, looking at Khiana, their bodies close to each other. "You're drinking all my scotch. I thought you'd..."

"You though because I was a middle eastern woman that I'd not drink?" Khiana asks teasingly.

James shrugs. "Yeah, something like that."

"I'm a woman who loves her country and her people, even if I'm far too western for my father's liking." Khiana takes another sip, her eyes mirthful over the rim of the glass. "I find some rules to be stupid."

James smiles, running a finger along Khiana's jaw. "Oh yeah, just some rules?"

Khiana leans in, kissing James softly at first, then deepening it. As they pull apart just enough to make eye contact, foreheads all but touching, she smiles before speaking again. "All kinds of rules."

James leans forward over Khiana, pushing her onto her back, a long deep kiss between them as James lands the half full glass on the table in front of the couch.

* * *

05:50am, Warehouse district, Tunis

The Turk arrived in the Chemist's warehouse in an obvious bad mood. He was not used to being out done, and by a western woman no less. The truck that had come to get him rumbled into the softly lit warehouse as it stops and the engine cuts. He sat in the passenger seat even after the driver and the gunner riding in the bed had left.

Failure was for others, not something that happened to him.

A shadow appears to his left, coming out of the dark offices on the warehouses north side. "The English woman escaped?"

The Turk soured at the question before nodding quietly.

"We needed to get that information out, she always had to escape." The Chemist said.

Punching the dashboard, the Turk leaps out of the truck, pacing the floor. "She killed ten of my men!" He shouts into the air. "How do I tell their families they were killed by some red woman from the west?!"

The Chemist says nothing at this, instead staring at the Turk from the shadows.

Nodding, the Turk throws up his hands. What more could he say or do?

"The informant, did she also escape?"

The Turk turns, looking at the Chemist. "Yes, she should be heading out of the country soon with the information you planted for her."

The Chemist smiles. "Good. Once she has convinced the British that we are credible, we can expand our reach to the rest of the holy warriors." At that, the Chemist turns as the first calls to prayer can be heard echoing over the city.

The Turk watches as the The Chemist disappeared back into the shadows just as the first rays of sunlight enter the windows above, illuminating the warehouse behind the Turk, hundreds of barrels lined up behind him.

* * *

11:55am, London Airspace, CIA private jet

James looked out the window as the CIA plane circled Heathrow as it prepared to land. Khiana had fallen asleep not long after they had taken off out of Tunis. James had no such luxury, the few hours of sleep she had shared with Khiana on the couch tiding her over, not wanting to risk the chance of a nightmare while on the plane.

Her awakening when Felix had arrived to pick them up had been sudden, the lack of sleep on her long day taking it's toll.

Felix Leighter for his part said little when he had arrived to find the two women in a state of half dressed disarray. The ride to the airport and from Tunis had been filled with tension, as if Leighter felt that he was worth more than a taxi ride for a lost little girl he'd caught mid-fling with a source of information he obviously had some idea about. There was several times he went forward, no doubt to make contact with his bosses, and perhaps M, whom James hadn't heard from since yesterday.

The adrenaline of the early morning was long gone, and now Bond simply felt exhausted. She had been on the go since 4am the day before, and even that had been a few brief hours of sleep. She may be a chronic insomniac, but she was used to a more sedate level of stress and activity, not almost being killed four times in 12 hours.

James rolled her shoulders, choosing to ignore it all as the plane began its final descent. She generally had little problem with flying, but found the idea of landing to be distressful. Perhaps, she pondered, it was the reminder of watching her parents fall to their death in front of her when she was young; or merely trying to accept that she had no control over her body as it races towards the ground in a controlled decent.

Finally she realized that it may just be because on the ground somewhere below her was M, and she had no idea how that was going to go.

Before she dealt with M, there was Richards, Director of Operations. He was waiting for them on the tarmac, a black Range Rover behind him. Departing the plane, she led Khiana towards the tall man who was still leaning against the black vehicle.

"Bond."

"Sir."

"Do get in." Richards said, circling the car to get in on the opposite side. Bond motioned for Khiana to ride up front, and then proceeded to get in the rear with the obviously unhappy man.

The ride over in the tinted vehicle was deathly quiet, taking twenty minutes to get from the tarmac to the underground parking lot where the vehicle bypassed the usual points and proceeded to a further underground end that James never even knew existed. Having bypassed several checkpoints in the process, the Range Rover turned sharply at the end, its tires squealing in the small bunker.

As James got out and circled the vehicle, she saw M standing outside a set of doors that led to a private elevator, James assumed, with several men and women flanked behind her. Khiana was following James, the driver of the Range Rover escorting her forward. M looked between Khiana and James, a frustrated expression on her face. "Bond, welcome back."

"Ma'am."

Turning to Khiana, M waved towards one of the men standing behind her. "Miss, if you go with them, they'll get you set up in a room for now until we can debrief you."

Khiana walked to them, and as the group began to pass M, Khiana pushes into the closest man to her, shoving him into the other three while pulling back, holding his weapon as she turns towards M, pointing the gun at her.

"Allah Aukbar." She said, drawing the hammer of the gun.

The gunshots echoed throughout the concrete chamber.

 **End of Sequence One**


End file.
